


Ashes Like Snowfall

by Ratt9



Category: Death Note
Genre: Character Death, Corpses, Death, Death References, Fear, Gen, Inanimate Objects, One Shot, One of My Favorites, POV Inanimate Object, Poetic, Psychological Drama, Spiritual, Time Skips, Wakes & Funerals, Weather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:04:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratt9/pseuds/Ratt9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rain tastes of the sky, and the sky tastes of blood. The bones only speak when it rains, and only when the rain falls does the boy visit an unmarked grave. Written from the perspective of L's headstone. A bit abstract.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ashes Like Snowfall

_"It rises from the dim, far distant plain toward the sky, as if by an old birthright."_

* * *

I am a headstone, bare amongst the rows of bones that rest in this field of the dead. Being unmarked as I am, there is no way for me to know the name of the former human resting beneath me. Although I am deeply curious about both the corpse's name as well as to why the name has been made to die with it, I know that it is perhaps for the best—it is blasphemy to speak the names of the dead, so never knowing the word at all is, I suppose, fitting.

* * *

The death ceremony for my decaying human was fairly short,

 _(_ fairly formal _)_.

Eyes were dry, and words—stiffly spoken; the deceased was not a family member but a business colleague, or something of that nature. In the procession of the ceremony, only the youngest remained at the site.

The inferiority of his age was obvious, but his madness was most clear. Once he had seen to it that those formerly in his company had gone, he threw himself to his hands and knees, suffocating the fresh dirt with his fingers. He laughed, and his eyes screamed insanity.

 _(_ And I, helpless _)_.

* * *

 _the moths whisper_

 _and my life is now made up_

 _of seconds_

 _the pendulum swings_

 _becoming three shades of white_

 _there's a ladder at the edge of the world_

 _suspended_

 _sometimes i wonder what_

 _happens between the_

 _silences_

 _the sound of footsteps die_

 _like everything_

 _but death_

 _a shallow breath is drawn_

 _white noise_

 _time passes_

 _like an antique paper weight_

 _and_

 _it will show you hidden realities_

 _the dark doves fly_

 _and then they scatter_

 _in the wild quiet_

 _is our last salvage of sympathy_

 _embers dance and fade_

 _bright in the sky_

 _in the end it didn't_

 _the thistle butterfly_

 _the flowers are the sound of silence_

 _the flowers are the sound_

 _the flowers are_

 _the flowers are_

 _the flowers_

Rain falls.

* * *

The body is long decayed, with nothing left of it but bones, and only when the world is silent but for the falling rain do we become aware once again of time's hollow passage.

The rain tastes of the sky, and the sky tastes of bloodshed. I ask why the world must be painted red before the ranting pendulum will slow and paint clarity over fragmented eyes, but the electric sky flashes as though the gods themselves were once again at war and the bones remain silent because we are not alone.

There stands the boy, but his madness is less prominent in his eyes—they appear now to be dulled, as if he has been crazed for so long now that it has been etched into his irises, ever-present and tainting his vision. He sounds like fury but looks and feels of fear. He shouts at the bones, and the bones listen because they have always listened, but now they must hear his words in silence.

I know that the bones are curious, though, because the boy holds in his hand a flower.

The bones grant me brief awareness. This boy has brought death upon many.

He puts down the single red flower, petals trembling softly, and leaves.

* * *

 _the world turns to_

 _chalk dust at your_

 _fingertips_

 _it's the last tree in the forest_

 _the world needs_

 _a cradle of beliefs_

 _and_

 _an inch of scorn_

 _to write with chalk_

 _on paper_

 _we all fall but_

 _maybe death wants to die_

 _too_

 _falls an avalanche of words_

 _tadpoles become_

 _birds fly like watercolours_

 _in the sky there are angels_

 _bringing death_

 _and the overdrawn flowers still remain_

 _the overdrawn flowers remain_

 _they still remain_

 _they shouldn't still rem_

Light spills from an underground window, its mind lost in all that is pas ** _t_**.

* * *

The bones speak, breaking their long, silent years of going without. Its words are silent dust in a world buried under sand, and I see a broken watch, a bloody dress, an antique teacup. More pronounced than the rest is an ancient notebook, tattered with age. The objects seem to hold some importance, but somehow, I no longer can remember why.

I realize that they were likely never meant for me to begin with. Nothing truly is meant for me; I am nothing but an unmarked headstone resting atop bones without a name.

I am not even meant to be with the bones, yet here I remain.

The flower is still inexplicably resting upon the ground, dried and dead.

 _(_ Though it is probably nothing but a passing illusion. _)_

The bones tell me that the boy who set it down no longer belongs to the earth, but instead to a world that used to be but no longer is.

In the end, it fails to matter. None of it matters.

The bones speak of a time when there was only rain on a tin roof. Maybe that's still all there is, just rain falling on a tin roof.

But not even the rain falling in torrents from the ruined, paper sky will save the flowers.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this turned out much differently than I thought it would. I kind of like it.
> 
> So, there was some heavy symbolism in this (as well as some things that don't really mean anything at all), so here's an explanation to anyone who doesn't understand what the hell they just read: Basically, it starts out around the time of L's funeral, and then describes Light laughing on L's grave. Once L's body decays completely, time is perceived (by the headstone and by L's bones) to have disappeared, so everything seems to happen in fragments and pieces (thus, the random italics). But, time seems to move normally again when it rains. The headstone is capable of speaking with L's bones, and L's bones can communicate with the headstone through sending weird sorts of images and memories; L's bones, however, remain essentially silent until Light is dead. In this, I imagine that when Light visits L's grave with the flower, it's around the time when Near has just made one of his first appearances. Light is frustrated (for the reason that either he does not deem Near to be a worthy opponent, and/or that he hates that L is still hindering his progress after he's already in the grave), and yells words of hatred at L's grave. But, for reasons unknown, the headstone seems to think that he feels slightly scared (it is up to the reader to decide whether the headstone's judgement was accurate or not). Light probably left the flower on L's grave out of a sense of respect. The very last bit takes place years after Light is dead, and finally L's bones speak to the headstone.
> 
> Make what you want of it—the entirety of its meaning is completely up to you.
> 
> I would REALLY love some feedback on this! Please tell me what you think of it, and I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
